


Hasyatva

by AllegoriesInMediasRes



Series: Ramayana fics [5]
Category: Ramayana - Valmiki
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Ficlets, Gen, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllegoriesInMediasRes/pseuds/AllegoriesInMediasRes
Summary: hasyatva (Sanskrit): ridiculousness





	Hasyatva

Their first day in exile is full of novelty, enough that homesickness has not yet been able to lay its insidious claim upon them. There had been so much walking, and then the ride by boat, and all the new sights and sounds that come with being common rather than royalty.

They have more travel in the days ahead, so it does not make sense to set up shelter; instead, they simply lie down underneath the open sky and stars. Lakshman frets whether his sister-in-law, so used to the silk carpets of the palace, has not overstrained herself for the day.

“Really, _devarji,_ you worry too much. I’m tired, perhaps, but I feel quite fine otherwise. A good night’s rest and I’ll be as spry as usual.”

“You’ll be feeling the aches in your muscles come morning. It always takes the nighttime for the pain to kick in.” Lakshman flexes his own arms in mirroring sympathy. “I remember what it was like when we first went to the _gurukulam,_ and I’m years out of shape.”

“Then you may join me here,” Rama calls over his shoulder from where he is doing his wind-down stretches for the day, “so that you do not wake up with three different kinds of cramps and shame us all with your sluggishness.”

Sita laughs, but beneath it is an undercurrent of worry. The frown tugging at Lakshman’s face had only deepened all afternoon, though he hid it out of deference to his brother, and she hopes they may be able to put other things in his mind than his desire to launch an arrow into Bharat’s heart. She is glad to see that scowl soften into fond annoyance as he rises to exercise with his brother, and prays that it will appear less often in the days to come.

* * *

Ravana and Sita match each other in stubbornness, and the war between them becomes one of attrition. If she will continue refusing him, then he will simply sit across from her and not stop reciting his virtues until she gives in.

He does not dismiss her guards as he usually does (perhaps he forgets to do so), so Trijata and her companions are forced to listen the whole day as all ten of his heads recite the many battles he has fought, the many threats he can unleash upon her if she does not comply, and the many ways in which her husband is inadequate for her many assets. Sita, to her credit, does not acknowledge the Lankan king with so much as a flicker in her countenance, but sits proudly under her _ashoka_ tree, her face turned away from her captor and her posture motionless. Finally, when the sun has long since set, he stands in fury and stalks off, ungracious in defeat and swearing a thousand curses upon her.

The guards rub their ears in weak gratitude, and one of the youngest, Basti, calls over to Sita, “I salute your steadfastness, but rue the price I paid for it!”

Titters break out at this, though they are good-natured. Over the long months at their posts, they have all developed a grudging respect for their prisoner, if not the motherly devotion that Trijata bears her. Sita does not respond, and they glance at each other, wondering if she had perhaps fallen asleep during his day-long tirade, unlikely as it was.

Trijata sits closest to Sita and leans over to check, only to find that her eyes are wide open, if glazed over. “His Majesty has long since left,” she says gently.

Sita starts, and then relaxes. “I was half-afraid he’d talk all through the night as well,” she admits, as she finally tugs down her _pallu,_ now that she is in the company of women.

“And you’d have let him, even if we must suffer for it,” Trijata rebukes her.

Sita offers a half-smile, before tugging out two tiny balls of fabric from her ears.

“You… plugged your ears?” Basti asks.

Sita shrugs. “As effective a method as any.”

“You could have shared it with the rest of us!” Basti snaps.

“How would it have worked for you, when you _rakshasis_ scorn the _pallu_ and have no way to conceal your miniature shields? You could have simply left when he came, as is his wont.”

“We dare not anger the King of Lanka by our presumption,” Basti says, more soberly.

“For someone with ten heads, he is not much blessed in the way of peripheral vision. He would not have noticed your absence, so intent he was on me.” For all that human women are supposed to be meek, Sita can be remarkably brusque in her assessments.

“We would not leave you alone with him, if we could help it,” Trijata offers softly.

“You need not fear for me.” Sita casts her glance away, over the high garden walls, across the crashing and roaring sea, where somewhere, her husband lies in wait.


End file.
